Better Days
by JulieJules
Summary: Collection of short stories about pre-Captain America Bucky and Steve. Humor/Friendship
1. Chapter 1

**You and What Army?**

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 _Author's Note: Any ages/dates, etc. are approximate, loosely based on the movie timelines. In the comics he was born in 1925, if you go by the Wiki movie info, he was born in 1918. This is just what my research came up with, apologies for any mistakes. Also, in the 'Better Days' stories after this one, Steve's parents are already gone, as is Bucky's father. For the sake of these stories, he still has a mother, a sister named Rebecca, and two younger siblings. In addition, Steve's ruminations about religion in this story are based on the same rambling thoughts I had as a kid._

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 _Disclaimer: I own nothing except my constantly wandering imagination._

* * *

 _ **Brooklyn, New York City - September, 1927**_

It was with no small amount of indignation that Steve left the building where he and his mother lived late that Sunday morning.

His mother was sick - she'd been getting sick a lot ever since she'd become a nurse - but she'd gotten him up and made him oil his hair, and wear his cheap new monkey suit to go to church. He'd wanted to stay home and take care of her, but she was insistent; he had to go represent the _family_ at church.

Steve picked up a fallen branch and idly tapped it on the ground as he walked. He thought it was funny how she acted like they wouldn't ever be allowed to go to church again if they missed a Sunday or Wednesday night sermon. He was only ten years old, but he figured if God was such a great guy, he wouldn't really care so much if you couldn't make it to his house every week. Why couldn't he hear your prayers just as well at home? And what about people who had to travel a lot? He'd even bet his pop would have prayed wherever he'd been stuck on the battlefield, but then, he _had_ still died -

"Hey, give that back!"

Steve looked up, tossing the limb aside, and saw a small crowd of kids ahead. There were about four or five, some of them he recognized from the tenements, a couple he didn't know. There was one kid, a little older, a little taller than the rest of them, that Steve definitely recognized. It was Colt Miller, and whatever was going on if that kid was around, it was bad news. He was always taking stuff that didn't belong to him and hitting smaller kids.

Steve hung back a little, torn between taking an alley to another street he could get to church on, and a sense of moral outrage when he saw Colt and a couple other guys holding a yowling gray kitten over a little girl's head. She didn't look at all familiar, and he vaguely recalled something about his mother saying some new folks had moved in nearby from out of state, and wondered if she belonged to them.

At any rate, she couldn't be more than five, had a clean but faded cotton dress on under a slightly too large boy's blue jumper, and dark, curly hair. Every time she hollered and jumped, they laughed.

Steve found himself getting more angry than scared. Colt Miller was twelve, but he was still in fourth grade. He'd been teased a lot for being a little slow, and now he was growing, he'd become the school bully. Steve had tried to feel sorry for the guy, but being so small, and the smartest in his class, he had been the unfortunate recipient of several beatings from the other kid. It was hard to feel sorry for a person that took so much joy in drawing your blood, and _this_ , today...Steve had never seen him go after a _girl_ before, especially one who was practically a _baby_.

"Give her back, or you'll be sorry!" the dark-haired little girl trilled breathlessly between jumps. "I'll scream, I'll scream, and if I do, you're gonna' be in trouble! I'll _get_ you!"

Steve frowned as Colt and his buddies laughed, and Colt, finally getting tired of the girl relentlessly kicking his shins, put a grubby hand on her forehead and pushed her down, hard.

"Yeah, you and what army, _Baby_?"

The girl's face turned beet red, and she sat up and grabbed the bully's free hand, and sank her tiny sharp white teeth into it.

Colt roared and yanked his hand back, shaking it. "You little brat!"

Steve couldn't help but grin. ' _Watch out, Miller, she's a biter!'_

" _M'not_ a brat, and I'm not a baby, I'm Becca! _You're_ the baby!"

Colt saw blood raising from the deep bite marks and showed his teeth, which were already turning brown from using chewing tobacco.

" _You're gonna' get it for that,"_ the bully hissed, carelessly tossing the kitten to another boy and grabbing the girl by her curls.

The little girl, Becca, squealed, but from rage, not fear, and tried to yank away.

Steve clenched his fists and walked forward before he could stop himself. "Hey, leave the kid alone, Miller. You know you were asking for it, so why don't you just let her go?"

Colt glanced over at Steve, his beady brown eyes spaced a little too close together, and curled his lip as he looked the other boy up and down.

"Rogers, what the hell you wearin? That cat's hacked up hairballs better lookin' than that getup."

Steve felt his cheeks burn in embarrassment as the other boys gathered around snickered and laughed. ' _Darn monkey suit…'_

Steve swallowed, and shifted restlessly, knowing he was no match but also refusing to run away. The girl could really get hurt if Colt was in a mood. He knew angry and stupid were a bad combination. The fact that she was so tenacious about fighting back didn't help, either. It was often why he, himself got the snot kicked out of him.

Steve licked his lips nervously. His ma' was going to kill him if he messed up the suit, but… "C'mon, Miller, the kid…?"

Colt took a step towards him, his friends following, and Steve knew this was the girl's chance to run - but then Becca chose that moment to try and stomp on the bully's foot, instead.

Angry and annoyed, Colt gave the little girl's head a violent yank back and threw her down again. She skidded hard, scraping up her hands and knees, and gave a sobbing hiccup when she finally caught her breath.

"Hey, that's enough!" Steve shouted, darting forward in alarm. He stepped in between them and felt a lurch in his chest when the girl behind him began to cry. "You crazy? She's just a baby!"

" _M'not a baby!"_ the little girl protested through her tears, although not as violently as before.

When Steve looked back at her, the other kid not holding the kitten took advantage and pushed him over with a sneer. When he was on the ground, Colt knelt over him and punched him in the face.

Steve was pretty certain his nose was busted, with the way lights exploded behind his eyes, and the painful, wet crunching noise. Blood immediately seeped down his upper lip, and he had the stray thought that maybe it would ruin the stupid suit so he'd never have to wear it again. He rolled over onto his elbows, groaning. The little girl was still crying, and to be truthful, it kinda' made him want to cry, too.

"Y-you're stupid!" Becca yelled, throwing a handful of gritty dirt at the bullies.

"Ha! You got kindergartener's backin' you up these days, Rogers?" Colt snorted, kicking dirt on Steve in return.

Becca stood up and shrieked at Colt, her voice quavering. " _You!_ Y-you're _stupid_ and _ugly_ , and I bet your mama _hates_ you!"

Steve groaned again. He buried his head in his arm for a second, wincing and wishing Becca would wise-up and be quiet. Everybody knew Colt's mother had run off with another guy a few years back, and it was most definitely a sore point. Nobody _ever_ brought up his ma.

" _Shut up!"_ Colt snarled, purple-faced, drawing back his foot to harshly kick the little girl. Steve instinctively rolled over, and pushed himself between them, the heavy kick landing in his ribs. He felt and heard something pop, and couldn't help but let out an agonized shout as he hit the ground and curled up around the burning pain in his side.

All the kids around them gasped at the noise. Another girl screeched dramatically, and a different one whispered loudly, "Ohmigod, he's gonna' _die_!"

Colt looked around suddenly, realizing he'd gone too far this time.

Steve turned his head and looked at Becca through watery eyes. "Run away!" he huffed at the little girl, who stood over him, staring at the blood still running from his nose and lip.

Instead of running like he'd told her to, the tiny brunette looked mutinous, her little round cheeks pink with temper, her bright blue eyes narrowing with menace.

Steve wasn't sure because he was in too much pain, but the tot actually looked a little...terrifying in that instant.

" _Tha's it!_ You guys asked for it!" Bessie warned, and then threw her head back and screamed so loud it made Steve's head hurt above all the other pain. That was when he blacked out.

" _Man, ain't that new kid somethin'!"_

" _Yeah, I ain't never seen Colt Miller cry before!"_

" _I can't wait 'till school tomorrow - everybody's gonna' know, but we got to see it!"_

" _I think he's kinda' cute, don't you Alice?"_

Steve slowly came to on his back with the world moving in a dizzy haze around him, and his mother's concerned face leaning over him.

"Ma'...?" he asked uncertainly past the the taste of copper and dirt in his mouth.

"I'm here, Stevie, don't move. I'm taping up your rib - hold your breath for me, kiddo."

Steve did as she asked, but felt tears spring to eyes at the unfamiliar sharp pain. A pair of patched denim legs moved in his field of vision, and he looked up, trying to focus, until the person got down on their knees beside him, opposite his mother. A kid around twelve, maybe a little older, because he looked so husky and tall, looked down at him with with a grin. He had a busted lip, and a grazed, puffy-looking cheek, but he was still smiling, deep blue eyes shining under a messy flop of dark brown hair.

Another movement next to him made Steve glance over, and he saw little Becca sitting next to the boy, cradling her kitten in her skirt, and wiping her dirty nose on the sleeve of her jumper.

"Did I do right, Bucky?" she asked, for the first time looking unsure.

"Yeah, you did right, Becca, just like I told ya'. Yell and I'll come runnin', kid. Big brothers gotta' watch out for their baby sisters," the boy said, rustling her curls.

"For my sake, _please_ don't call her a baby," Steve muttered on a rough exhalation.

The boy laughed and patted Becca again. "See, kid, he knows ya' already!"

"We're going to sit you up, slowly, okay Stevie?" his mother said around a sneeze.

Steve thought she looked almost as bad as he felt. He grabbed his ma's hand, and the boy grabbed his other and gave it a friendly shake before helping to pull him to a sitting position.

Steve had to breathe shallowly, and assured his mother he was okay for a minute while she checked on Becca and carefully bandaged her tiny knees. Becca looked content to stroke her kitten now, barely even wincing as his mother disinfected her scrapes.

"Hey, thanks for lookin' out for my sister," the boy distracted him by saying. "I'm Bucky. Bucky Barnes."

Steve lifted his head wearily. "Steve...Rogers."

Bucky nodded. "I know, your ma' told me. She said you got a broke rib. Lucky she's a nurse huh?"

"Comes in handy - unfortunately," Steve agreed.

Bucky went quiet for a moment, then caught Steve eyeing him questioningly.

"How old are you, kid?"

Steve rolled his swelling eyes. "Ten. I know, I look younger. I'm just - small for my age."

Bucky snorted. "That overgrown punk just handed you your ass, and you're awake and moving around. I don't think your age or height had anything to do with it. You're pretty damn tough."

Steve smiled a little. "How old are you?"

Bucky scratched his head. "Eleven, why?"

Steve's smile fell. "You're only eleven?"

"I'm just...tall for my age?" Bucky offered lamely.

"Yeah, that doesn't make me feel any better." Steve accepted his help to stand up, and prided himself on not making any of the pained noises he wanted to.

"So what happened? You take on Miller?"

"That his name? Yeah, him and his drooling goons. Sorry I didn't get here sooner - I was in the cellar unpacking stuff for my ma and didn't hear anything until Becca screamed."

"Yeah, I think my ears are gonna' be ringing for a while just from that. To think, _you_ gotta' live with her."

Bucky laughed. "It's not that bad - you'll learn how to deal with her."

Steve pressed a hand to his side and stared at him. "Uh…"

"Sorry, she's going to follow you everywhere, you know. She says you're 'her second favorite hero'. But I'll be around to handle her. It's the least I can do."

Steve shook his head. "I dunno' if my _ribs_ can handle anymore of that kid."

"She _does_ get in trouble - a lot."

"So do I," Steve admitted. "Not that I mean to."

Bucky sighed. "Gonna' have my hands full, here. I need to show you a couple things about defendin' yourself - _when_ you're all better."

"You think you could?" Steve actually felt a little hopeful.

"Sure, why not?"

"No one's ever thought much of me, except my Ma'. I...I don't have many friends." _Any_ friends.

Bucky put a hand on his shoulder and began helping walk, following Steve's mother and Becca back towards their buildings.

"Well, ya' got a new one right here, buddy. Anybody who'd take a beatin' for a kid you don't even know the way you did today? I'd be proud to count you as a friend. Hey, maybe you can even be my sidekick. We'll look out for each other, okay? Just watch, one day I bet you'll be a legend around here."


	2. Chapter 2

**The Barnes Blues**

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 _Author's Note: Yes, I am of the opinion that based on the devoted attention he shows towards the women in his vicinity in **Captain America: The First Avenger** , Bucky Barnes was, once-upon-a-time, a shameless man-whore. And, I have to write about it. :) This short story also features 'prude' Steve just for fun. Once again, timelines loosely based on the movie._

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 _ **Brooklyn, New York City** \- October, 1940_

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Steve was tiredly walking home from work on an overcast Monday when he saw his best friend headed across the busy street in his direction. The taller, dark-haired young man was looking a little down, which was completely out of character. Concerned, Steve greeted him, and automatically fell into step beside him.

"What's got ya' looking so down, Buck? Tough weekend?"

Bucky gave a faint, self-deprecating laugh. "You ain't kiddin'."

Steve thought about it, realized he hadn't seen Bucky in a few days, in fact, then snuck a look over at his friend and asked simply, "Dame?"

Bucky groaned in response.

"Is it that redhead...what was her name? Matilda?"

Bucky coughed a little. "You mean Tillie."

"Yeah, thought you two were actually dating. For what, a month? Gotta' be a record for you. Plus, your ma' liked her, and she doesn't like _anybody_. I kinda' thought you might be snake-bit, y'know?"

"Steve, you know that ain't my style."

"Uh-huh. How come I haven't seen her around lately?"

Bucky had the good grace to wince a little in regret. He plucked at the cuff of his coat. "Heh...uh. Yeah...about that - "

Steve stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. "Aw, c'mon, Buck, what'd you do this time? She was the one who ended it, right?"

Bucky stepped off to the side away from the crowd, pulled Steve with him, and then put his hands up in defense. "Hey, can't end something that never really began."

Steve was disappointed. He leaned against the wall of the building they were in front of and shook his head. "All the same, Buck, she was a nice girl!"

Bucky nodded, lips in a thin line. "She _was_ a nice girl, she really was...until she saw me at the theater with that _extra-nice_ blond that works at that Automat on fourth."

"You didn't. Wait, that one, the icy blond - th-the one who insisted she was only working there because she was 'between roles'? The one with the - " Steve caught himself with his hands in the air at chest level and blushed. "Yeah, uh...the, _ahem_. Yeah, um, Greta?"

" _Grrr-_ et _-tah."_ Bucky growled lowly, smirking.

"Greta," Steve repeated with an awed, kind of unwilling respect, and then, "Hey! You said she wouldn't go with you, she shot you down! I actually had respect for the woman! Maybe she ran out of options."

Bucky narrowed his eyes. "Keep it up, kid, I'll show you options."

Steve laughed. "So, c'mon, what happened?"

"Well, turns out that slick-chick was just playing hard-to-get. I stopped by there with Tillie last Saturday and she did everything but wrap herself up to-go when she saw I was taken, pal. It was pretty gratifying, I gotta' admit. It had to happen sooner or later, you know they can't resist the Barnes Blues!"

"I have blue eyes, too, Bucky." Steve pointed out dryly, but his friend was like a steamroller.

"So I go back on Monday, check things out, next thing you know, we're on for Friday night. How was I supposed to turn that down?"

Steve knew his friend wasn't the kind of guy who could - or would.

"So what happened?"

"Man, I brought her flowers, treated her to dinner at Rudy's, paid for a taxi to the theater, _and_ got her popcorn to-boot." Bucky whistled low, shaking his head. "I'm tellin ya', it was a sure thing. We got settled in, third row _balcony_ seats, you know what I mean - "

"No, actually I don't," Steve muttered dejectedly, "but knowing _you_ , I have a fair idea. How many does this make since the summer began?"

Bucky chuckled. "What can I say, Stevie. What kinda' guy would I be if I kept count? I'm a crowd-pleaser."

"Oh, is that what they call it? So where'd Tillie come in?"

Bucky's face fell. "Oh, it was _bad_. Like that incident with Dot Huffman bad."

Steve made a pained face and groaned sympathetically, but said, "You do understand you've got no one else to blame for that but yourself?"

"I _hate_ it when you give me that ' _I told you so'_ face. Yeah, see, _this_ is why I didn't tell you about her before."

Steve's expression became pinched and more than a little self-righteous.

Bucky got twitchy, trying to ignore him, playing with his cuff again, and then gave up and threw his hands in the air. "Okay, so I'm to blame for this, too, _you told me so_ , I'm guilty of the crime, happy? Fine? Fine. You wanna' hear how it went, or not?"

Steve shrugged carelessly, but he really did, and Bucky knew it.

"So, anyway, we can't be more than ten minutes into the first reel, and _she_ leans over and kisses _me_! I'm thinking, _damn_ , I am officially the luckiest guy in New York!"

"She...sounds really confident. This Greta must've had an awful lot of practice," Steve interjected bemusedly.

Bucky paused, arched a dark brow, and, deciding his friend wasn't intentionally being a smart ass, went on.

"Anyway, it all goes downhill from there. Things are just getting good when some punk kicks the back of my chair. I ignore it at first, too cosy to care, when damn if it happens again. I get up, turn around mad as hell, and who do I see but Tillie...and _her_ _mother_."

Steve tried not to smile - he really did - but he had to duck his head to hide it.

"Oh, I'm not finished," Bucky added. "She also had her _four brothers_ with her."

Steve choked on his laughter and had to turn away. He had a sudden thought and turned back, confused.

"I thought all she had were kid brothers? Aren't they all around eight and twelve years old?"

Bucky snarled a little. "Yeah, and all of 'em are _rabid_."

Steve bent over, howling.

Bucky huffed. "It's not funny, Steve, those brats are gonna' be somebody's gorilla's one day, you watch! They got 'mob thug' written all over 'em. Greta got tarred and feathered by those little shits!"

" _No!"_ Steve mocked.

Bucky pointed a finger at him. "I know what you're thinkin', and my sister's got nothing on _these_ kids. Greta was covered in soda, candy, popcorn - God knows what else the little monsters got their hands on! I ain't kidding, she looked like a goddamn fruitcake when we finally got out of there."

"Stop, _s-stop_ ," Steve begged, hands on his knees.

"Then Tillie's ma was spitting - _spitting!_ \- on me, screaming about how all along, _I'd_ been leadin' her daughter down the garden path! Then she stabs me in the ribs with her umbrella! She was still on me even after the ushers came and threw us out into the back alley! I'm black and blue all over!"

Steve could only cackle.

Bucky stopped and kicked Steve's foot in retaliation. "Knock it off."

Steve took a second to breathe and said, "I'm surprised you just stood there and took it. Why didn't you leave?"

"Believe me, If I could have, I would've." Bucky rolled his eyes and thoughtfully rubbed the knuckles on the back of his left hand. "You know, you could tell that old broad used to be a redhead. She's lucky I don't slap around women - not that that witch would let you get in close enough."

Steve stopped laughing long enough to ask, "W-what'd Greta do?"

Bucky's expression turned bitter. "Made me pay for her taxi fare home, _and_ the tip, and she was gone with the wind. I can't show my face in that Automat ever again. A whole week's pay and nothin' to show for it," he muttered flatly.

Steve was trying not to wheeze - his lungs weren't made to withstand the hilarity. "I wouldn't say nothing - _balcony_ seats?"

Bucky blushed, but he had a smug smile on his face.

Steve enjoyed it a little too much that Bucky could still blush, but it gave him hope for the big guy. He took a deep breath to clear the tightness in his chest from laughing so hard, and then smacked Bucky in the arm. "So what happened to _you_ , Buck?"

Bucky looked decidedly uncomfortable, and Steve saw his jaw muscles clench.

" _C'mon_ , I know those kids didn't let you off that easy. Did you make Tillie cry?"

"Hell, no, she didn't cry! _She_ was the one who - well...let's just say I left with a bad limp," Bucky sighed roughly. His blue eyes slid back to Steve's and he reluctantly added, "the kind it takes five pounds of crushed ice and a bi-hourly inspection to make sure you're still as God made you."

Steve broke up again, and he wiped tears from his eyes, but he winced sympathetically.

Bucky gave him a dirty look and sighed again. "It's just as well - she was raised Catholic. She practically had _touch-me-not_ written all over her. It wouldn't have lasted."

Steve looked at him questioningly. "But - weren't _you_ raised Catholic?"

"You know I was. So?" Bucky gave him a blank stare.

"You should be ashamed," Steve muttered, shaking his head at his friend in disbelief. He wasn't going to get into it, though, because the stuff Bucky got up to with girls made _him_ blush.

" _So_ ," Steve continued pointedly, "it's not her fault you're the one who's always on 'active-duty', Buck."

Bucky cleared his throat and looked around, his cheeks still coloring a little - but his lips twitched in amusement. "Is it my fault I get restless? I'm young! Who wants to get married and settle down at our age?"

Steve looked at up at his friend with a wistful expression.

Bucky sighed. "You don't wanna' get hitched right now, Steve, no matter what my ma' says."

Steve shrugged. "I guess not, not really. But...it'd be nice to be considered, to have the choice at least." He watched Bucky earnestly for a second before shrugging again and shoving his hands in his coat pockets. He focused on the dirty sidewalk under their feet.

"Girls don't look down when they're looking for Mr. Right."

"Look, kid - trust me, no dame is looking for Mr. Right in this day and age."

Steve looked up, hopeful. "They're not?"

Bucky snorted. "No way! They're looking for the lettuce! _Mr. Moneybags!_ It's that simple, buddy, figure out a way to get rich." He patted Steve on the head.

Steve closed his eyes and shook his head, a wry smile curling his lips.

"Hey, just saying, what's the point in spending your whole life lookin' for a dame who might not even exist?"

"Get a few more years under that belt, I bet you'll wonder why you ever asked that," Steve announced wisely, then punched his arm. "Tell me you don't miss Tillie."

Bucky wrapped an arm around Steve's narrow shoulders and turned him to start walking down the street.

"Well, I...er, miss...certain parts of her," he said mischievously.

Steve slid him a look from the corners of his eyes.

"C'mon, Steve, she was meant to be somebody's wife. Could you really see me with her? Girl had a temper like her ma, and her old man's been hen-pecked to death. Seriously, he's always got this look on his face, man, like...like he smells somethin' funny." Bucky scrunched his nose. "Nah, I'd have ended up bein' 'Mr. Tillie'."

"Are you serious? So, what, you're just 'done'? On to the next dame? After this, you'd think you'd be traumatized."

"There's _always_ another dame, Steve."

"Yeah, easy for you to say. Something tells me you're on a long road to ruin, Barnes. Someday a girl's gonna' break your heart, and you're gonna' come up and ask me why I never beat some sense into you."

"Ha! Yeah, and I'll already know why you didn't," Bucky put his elbow on Steve's head and leaned on it. "Geez, you sound like ma'! _'Road to ruin'_ , are you kidding me with that stuff?"

Steve ducked away from it and scowled up at his friend, rubbing the smarting scalp under his sandy blond hair.

" _Jerk_."

" _Punk_ , _"_ Bucky shot back.

Steve growled. "I swear, if I was a foot taller - "

"But you _don't_ swear, Steve, and you could be _two_ feet taller, you _still_ couldn't beat me. Maybe on a step-stool - "

Steve muttered something rude under his breath and Bucky laughed out loud. "You're still young, Steve, anything could happen. You could hit a late growth-spurt and be 6'4 by New Year, man. You never know."

Steve knew the likelihood of that happening was slim to none. He figured he was way past any sudden height developments. Bucky was just trying to be nice.

He looked longingly at the dark shadow his friend was always complaining about having to shave, and rubbed a hand over his own smooth, baby-bare chin. He looked down, glaring at the secondhand leather shoes on his feet. They were a little too big, but his Ma had gotten a good price on them a year or so before she died, and thanks to living through the Depression, they'd always been thrifty. He always had to stuff newspaper in to make them fit - and in an attempt to keep his feet drier and warmer during the winter. He hadn't had the heart, or honestly, the dough to get a different pair yet.

Steve's heart hurt for a moment as he thought about his mother, but then he sighed and said, "I'm five-four and it's three months 'til New Year, Buck."

"Well, then, maybe _next_ New Year. Happy thoughts, kiddo," Bucky put a gentle hand on his shoulder. "C'mon, you can treat your poor, broke friend to some grub. Trust me, we're young, and when you're young, time don't mean a thing."


	3. Chapter 3

**In Praise of Farmer's Daughters**

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 _Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who stopped to take a look at my little stories - they're short in length, but the sentiment is deeply felt. I also appreciate the comments and feedback, they made me smile. So, this one features Snotty Steve and Drafted!Bucky. A lot of it was inspired by clips of Chris Evans and Sebastian Stan from the many fan-made you tube videos that ripped my heart out. If I did anything right, it should hit you right in the feels. **P.S.** They're also  still just friends. :)_

* * *

 _ **Brooklyn - January, 1942**_

* * *

Bucky found Steve in a familiar place - the bench outside the local recruitment office - the one they'd originally both registered at after the signing of the Selective Service Act. They'd registered for the draft because it had been made very clear they were of age, expected to, and, of course, it was just the right thing to do.

Steve had been excited about the prospect of going to war, making a difference in the world, making things better, safer - Bucky had been ambivalent about the whole lottery thing. Steve had been rejected (4-F), right out, too sickly to be considered of any use - but Bucky had been just what they were looking for. He'd been registered on the spot.

Now, years later, apparently his number was finally up.

Steve looked frustrated as hell and rejected as usual, but for the first time in his life, Bucky suddenly, seriously felt his time was running out. He wasn't too proud to admit he was scared, and he needed to talk, and Steve would be the only one to care - and to understand.

"Heya', Buck," Steve said, sitting up from his slumped position on the bench. He was wearing a brown wool coat that had seen better days, and a scarf his ma had knitted him years ago. He didn't have a hat on despite the wet cold, his lips were chattering slightly, and his nose was bright red. He sniffed, producing a handkerchief to swipe at his nose, and moved over for his friend to sit down.

"What's up? Shouldn't you be at work?"

"Hey, Steve, I'm glad I...ran into ya'," Bucky sat down next to him, his sense of panic making him breathless. "I, uh. I got some news today...wanted you to know, first." He handed his friend a folded letter and silently sucked in a breath of icy air in anticipation of his reaction. He rubbed his hands together more out of nervous tension than an attempt at warmth.

"You got drafted." Steve finally said flatly, slowly folding the letter up before handing it back. His sigh was accentuated by a cloud of warm air.

Bucky took the paper, and shoved it in his back pocket, a feat that took him three tries because his hand was shaking. "Yep. In two weeks I'm s'posed to leave for Basic in Fort McCoy, Wisconsin. Why the hell Wisconsin? I mean, Lehigh's closer, and that was Dad's old base."

"I, um..I think Lehigh's more for troops being sent out sooner rather than later," Steve commented carefully.

"Huh. What's in Wisconsin, anyway?"

"I dunno," Steve murmured absently. "Cheese?"

Steve was sulking at the ground and missed Bucky scrubbing at his suddenly tearing eyes with his fists.

"Congratulations, Buck."

Bucky dropped his hands and stared at him. "'Congratulations'? _Really?_ "

Steve must've looked up when he heard the distinct tremble in Bucky's voice. It definitely wasn't from the cold.

Bucky knew he saw the red-rimmed eyes and the way he was hunched over, head in his shoulders, and knew something wasn't right. Bucky didn't break down, he didn't shrink into himself. Steve had to have begun to feel a little fear for his friend when the thought finally occurred to him, and then his eyes widened in sudden understanding.

"You don't want to go."

Bucky kept his eyes wide, unblinking, trying to force back burning tears. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, and hung his head between them, focusing on a the crushed remains of someone's cigarette on the dirty brick sidewalk and hiding behind the forward slide of his hair.

"Well...at least you aren't considered a dud like me," Steve announced awkwardly. "Those guys know a winner when they see one."

Bucky laughed harshly, his breathing fast and uneven. "Winner, yeah, right. This ain't a contest. Getting sent into that shit is _not_ a prize, Steve. I know you're disappointed, but at least _you_ don't have to worry about being the one who gets dusted over there - or wherever it is they'll eventually ship me off to," Bucky heard himself snap all this bitterly, and then wondered where the hell it had come from.

"I-I'm sorry, Buck, I had no idea you - I mean, you never…" Steve shook his head, as if trying to come to terms with the idea Bucky might become a deserter.

"Are you saying you're...gonna' get lost?"

Bucky stood up with a violent, _"Hell, no!"_ that made several people nearby startle.

" _Do not_ get the wrong idea, I'm not gonna' blow - nobody can say Bucky Barnes ever ran away from a fight!"

Steve scrambled helplessly, putting a tentative hand on his where it was fisted by his side. "It's okay, Buck! It's okay to be...anxious. Expected, even. It'd be crazy if you weren't!"

"Is that what this is?" Bucky asked distantly, sinking back down onto the bench to lean on his knees again. " I'm...anxious?"

 _More like terrified..._

"I think so," Steve agreed cautiously. He watched his friend closely.

Bucky was quiet for a long time, listening to traffic noises, watching people go about their lives around them. He carefully folded his hands together and said, quietly but certainly, "I don't want this, Steve. I'm _twenty-four_." He paused and turned his head to look at Steve with a bewildered expression that made him look years younger.

"What happened to all the time, Steve?" Bucky had to look away abruptly, his throat tightening that much more - it was becoming unbearably painful.

At first, Steve seemed not to know what to say, and then -

"Hey, Buck?"

Bucky was horrified his tears were going to spill over in public - and then they _did_. He took a shaky breath and passed the side of his right hand quickly over both eyes swiping away the hot droplets. He hung his head back on his shoulders, looking up at the gray sky, and belatedly recalled Steve asking his name.

"Yeah?" he asked brokenly.

"I- uh...I just remembered what else they have in Wisconsin."

Unwilling to be drawn from his misery, Bucky reluctantly brought his head down to look back at him, only lifting a questioning brow.

"Milk!"

Bucky blinked, then smiled reluctantly, huffing, _"What?"_

"Milk! You need milk to make cheese! And where there is milk, there are cows, and where there are cows, there are farmers, and where there are farmers, there are farmer's _daughters_. Milk maids, Buck. _That's_ what's in Wisconsin. I bet they love men in uniform."

Bucky sniffed, rubbing a hand over his face. He ran a rough hand through his dark hair, forced his shoulders back, and produced a weak smirk. He knew that Steve was trying to cheer him up, but he was also giving him an out. He could fall apart in front of the draft office like some milktoast mama's boy, or he could straighten his shit out and at least pretend he was okay - for the moment. He might be good enough to fool even himself. He chose the latter.

"Hot damn. You know something, Rogers, you're right. Why the hell didn't I think of that?"

"Just remember, Buck - farmers also have guns."

"So do soldiers." Bucky sat upright, grinning, the tension in his chest and throat actually beginning to loosen. He couldn't believe he was actually buying into his own considerable talent at bullshitting, but, hey, if that was what worked, he was going ride that fake bravado until the end of the line.

Steve grinned back.

Bucky sniffed, gazing out over the cityscape. He still didn't see any hope in it all ending well for him, but at least if he didn't come back one day, fuck if he was going out a known coward.

"Sorry, Steve. I don't know what got into me. I mean, what the hell else would I do, right? I'm not trained enough to make any real dough for my family, and I definitely ain't interested in settling down. You know I don't do domestic. Hell, this is my only real chance to get outta' here, maybe see some of the world, plus, helping my country? It's not so bad."

Steve smiled encouragingly. "You're gonna' be alright, Barnes. Just remember to take it easy on those poor country milk maids out in Wisconsin - I'm willing to bet they've never seen anything quite like you."

"Damn straight they haven't," Bucky grinned again, his old confidence quick to return. He blinked the sting out of his eyes and took a deep breath of the cold, bracing air. Then his grin suddenly disappeared, and he cleared his throat. "Well, I can't put it off forever. I guess it's time to go tell Ma', and uh... _Becca_."

Steve felt his left eyelid twitch in reaction. He really didn't want to be there for that encounter. Bucky's sister was guaranteed not to take this news well - not to mention the chaos that would ensue once his two other younger siblings found out. Bad news in their household was like a jumping Williamsburg dive bar running out of hooch on a Saturday night. It held a distinct possibility of getting ugly.

"You need to get in out of this mess," Bucky said, kicking the side of Steve's damp, half-frozen shoe with his own. "Sitting here, soaking in the cold - it's not gonna' help your asthma."

Steve stood up, hobbling a little and groaning from being parked in one position in the cold for too long.

"Don't remind me - I've already _got_ a cold." He took out his handkerchief again and sneezed into it, only his scarf got in the way and had to clean snot off it with a miserable groan. "I can't even remember why the heck I came out today."

"Because for such a little guy, you're hard-wired for trouble, that's why." Bucky told him seriously. "I know whatcha' been doin' - and you gotta give this up before you get arrested, kid," he said, motioning at the recruitment center. "Besides they already know your face, here."

"Yeah, I know, I just - " Steve interrupted himself as his lungs gave an unhealthy wheeze.

"Well, that tears it - you're coming home with me to give Becca the big news." Bucky wrapped an arm around his shoulders and dragged him to the curb, whistling for a taxi.

"What? _Ohhh_ , _no_ , I mean, thanks, pal, but I really just feel like going home and - "

Bucky opened the door to a yellow taxi and tried to herd Steve in. He almost laughed - it was like trying to put a cat in a washtub.

"C'mon, Buddy, you know she loves you, and you _know_ she loves you even more when you're sick. She'll take one look at you and _my_ news will suddenly be _old_ news - you'll even get her famous chicken noodle soup! You know she's always been sweet on you. Look at it as doing damage control. You'll save the sanity of my family."

" _Bucky!"_ Steve snarled, holding fast to the door frame, slender knuckles white with effort.

Bucky would have pushed harder if he wasn't afraid he'd pop Steve's shoulders out of socket. It had happened to the kid before, in other fights he'd been too freakishly stubborn to walk away from. Once, he'd even gotten his damn hip dislocated.

The last thought made Bucky pause, suddenly made all the hopelessness and fear come rushing back.

 _Oh, God. Who the hell was going to look after Steve's reckless ass if he was gone?_

A pathetic-sounding sneeze from young man in front of him quickly snapped him out of it.

Bucky released a rickety sigh. Focusing, he rolled his eyes, backed off for a second, almost slipped on some ice, and grabbed the open door for balance before quickly looking around to see if anyone had noticed his embarrassing lack of smoothness.

The old cabbie had, watching the spectacle in the rearview mirror, and he was cackling merrily behind a short, smelly stogie.

Bucky ground his teeth, snapping. "Hey, lose the cigar, will ya' fella? This kid's got asthma for christ-sake!"

The cabbie abruptly stopped laughing, looking to turn mutinous.

Bucky gave him a long, hard stare, and the old man harrumphed but stubbed the stogie out in an overflowing ashtray.

"Oh, don't put yourself out," Steve said cheerily. "I'm not coming on this fare."

"Dammit, Steve," Bucky warned, his annoyance showing, "if you don't get in that cab I'm gonna' just leave you sprawled out here on the asphalt, see if I don't!"

Steve laughed breathlessly, out of energy but _still_ looking to be stubborn. "That'd actually be preferable, thanks!"

 _Damn_. Bucky was thankful for the distraction, honestly, but the kid never knew when to quit.

Clenching his jaw, narrowed blue eyes coolly assessing the situation, Bucky cracked his neck, gave his shoulders a shrug, put a foot behind one of Steve's knees - and gave a firm but gentle push.

Thanks to his gift for strategizing, that was all it took.

Steve squeaked as his knee collapsed, the surprise making him lose his tenuous grip on the frame, and he fell into the taxi face first, struggled cartoonishly for a second, and then finally rolled over and managed to sit up as a smug Bucky dropped down beside him and shut the door. He huffed with exertion, pulling his tangled scarf from around his head, looking up at Bucky resentfully. His pale, sharp features were flushed bright, shiny red.

" _Her soup is only famous because you know how_ _ **bad**_ _it is!"_ Steve furiously whisper-shouted, as if afraid Bucky's sister might actually hear. "No one in your family _ever_ gets sick!"

"Because we're all too afraid she'll make us eat that carcass water she calls broth," Bucky laughed, pausing to give the driver his address, and then he tilted his head thoughtfully.

"It's - well, let's just say that it's effective in it's own way."

" _Don't you dare tell her I'm sick!"_ Steve hissed desperately, and it made Bucky remember the first - and _last_ \- time he'd been made to eat it. His little sister had worked on it all day, and even though he hadn't wanted _anything_ to eat at the time, his Ma had guilted him into drinking it. He hadn't been able to smell or taste anything but burnt Rosemary for a week and had ended up _losing_ three pounds.

"I hate to remind you, Rogers, but you're _always_ sick. You've pretty much been sick ever since the day I met you! It's not like you can hide it."

"You owe me for this, Barnes," Steve grumbled, slumping dejectedly, "you know I can't say no to her!" He looked out the window as they traveled through the borough and stubbornly set his lower jaw.

Feeling energized and mostly back to his old self, Bucky grinned and glanced over at the slight young man next to him, knowing he was the one he had to thank for it. The grin slid from his face as he realized time with his best friend was borrowed from this moment on.

"I know. I can't either," Bucky admitted seriously. "But, I also know you can't say no to me, and I owe you for that, kid. I owe you _big_."


	4. Chapter 4

**In The Dog House**

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ _What did Steve get up to during all that time Bucky was away at Basic? You know that old saying, "He's in the dog house?" Well, Steve's in one for a different reason..._

* * *

Steve had suspected what it was going to be like once Bucky was gone for Basic Training.

He'd known things were going to be iffy the next time he really tangled with some disrespectful bum and his best friend wasn't around to 'mediate'.

He'd known he would still be expected to attend awkward Sunday dinners with Bucky's Ma' and sisters every week, where he would be forced to sit at the table with four females, two of which had barely reached their teens, and face the knowledge that he was _still_ the weakest person in the room.

He'd known his jobs at the corner grocer's and selling papers would seem even less meaningful to him than it already was, and he was _right_.

Steve was trudging home one Friday evening after work, frustrated as all hell after reading the headlines about the war effort and the events overseas. He was mad enough to spit nails, and almost snapped when someone much taller than him suddenly stepped out in front of him and grabbed his thin shoulder.

" _Hey, Stevie!_ Haven't seen you in _months_! You're lookin' good! Whatcha' been up to, guy?"

Steve looked up, swallowing back the protest that leaped to his tongue at being touched, and saw one of Bucky's old pals from the school standing before him. He blinked and smiled widely when he saw just who it was - the short, curly red-hair, crooked-tooth grin, and big blue cow-eyes with near-white lashes were very distinctive.

"Hey, _Rooster Ross_!" Steve excitedly greeted the other man, extending his hand for a shake - but the man grabbed him up in a bear hug, laughing loudly, and Steve rolled his eyes, patting his shoulder obligingly until he put him down.

"See you got nabbed," Steve commented when they stepped away from each other and he noticed the other man's army dress uniform. "I didn't even know you were gone!"

Rooster looked down at his fancy duds with a crooked smile on his ruddy-complexioned face, and shrugged. "Yeah, I already been to Basic and gone, kid. I been home on leave, and I'm back outta' here first thing Monday. Honolulu, can ya' believe it? Anyway, I just got back from Buck's house - went there lookin' for ya' guys, but his Ma' said his number got called."

Steve nodded. "Yeah, he writes his Ma' every once in awhile - apparently he has a gift for sharpshooting, and the Army's sending him off to England for special training after he gets out of Basic. He won't be back for another few months."

"Well, I'd congratulate him if he wasn't gettin' the bum's rush. But then, ain't we all?"

Steve lifted an eyebrow. "Not me, apparently. You're looking at the man with the most 4-F's in history. Long story." he added dismissively when the other man looked surprised.

"I bet. Listen, I was lookin' to grab a few drinks - tag along, will ya'? I know, I know - 'you don't drink', but come and talk to me, huh? You can catch me up on what's been goin' on around the borough - an' who Bucky's sister is datin' right now."

"Becca isn't dating anyone right now," Steve answered, sighing, only putting up a token protest when Rooster turned him around and started walking him back the way he'd come.

Rooster hooted happily. "That's exactly what I was hopin' to hear!"

"You do know Bucky would kill you if you asked his little sister out?" Steve told him bluntly.

"He can't kill me if he's outta' town, now can he? I've had a thing for her since school! I wonder if she'd wanna' hit Coney tomorrow? Do ya' know what she thinks about gingers…?"

* * *

"How's it goin', _Roo-ster_?"

Steve looked over at the sultry greeting when they walked through the doors of the bar. An extremely well-endowed blond in a black-seamed red dress waggled her fingers at them and smiled with full red lips.

"Buy a girl a drink?" she asked, nudging him with her arm. She then looked down at Steve, and her smile widened. "Maybe even... _two_?"

Steve swallowed, reaching up to nervously smooth back his hair while simultaneously trying to disregard the fact that he could see the lacey black edge of one garter peeking out of the side slit in her skirt.

Rooster shook his head, but gave the woman an easy smile and hurried Steve off to the crowded bar where they took seats. Rooster ordered for them before Steve could protest and then turned around on his stool to lean back and observe the crowd.

"That Mary Colecki, _phew_! She's mighty nice to look at, but I wouldn't wanna' marry her," he announced a moment later, shaking his head. He turned back around when two shots and a couple of beer mugs landed before them. He threw back his shot and chugged down half his beer before he took a breath.

"The blond? Why?"

Rooster cocked an eyebrow. "'Cause, she's one a 'dem gals likes to ' _take frequent meetin's between the sheets'_ , know what I mean?"

Steve was confused.

"I'll explain it if you down that shot, _Granny-Dan_."

Steve scowled at the old childhood taunt, but grabbed the tiny glass and threw its contents back. He coughed and sputtered, but signaled for the other man to continue.

Rooster scooted closer and stifled a laugh before putting his mouth near Steve's ear. _"She's a nympho!"_ he hissed, his shoulders shaking with mirth. "A little too 'experienced', for my tastes, if you know what I mean."

Steve drew back in surprise, wondering if that meant what he thought it meant. He sat up straight and looked over his shoulder across the bar at the curvy blond. He could see that she had approached another couple of guys in uniform, and it wasn't long before the they were hurrying out the door, the smirking blond in tow.

Steve made a 'huh', face, and turned back to see Rooster shoving his beer mug at him.

"Hmph. She seems like a nice girl. Looks kinda' familiar. I wonder if Bucky knows her," he asked curiously, blinking, and Rooster choked on his beer.

"Oh, only in the _biblical_ sense, pal," he sputtered, chuckling, and Steve shrugged. He was already too buzzed to even blush.

* * *

"Ugh, don't look now, but big, ugly trouble just walked in," Rooster announced, making a face. He jerked his head over his shoulder at a burly-looking guy who walked in with an arm hanging around a woman who was clearly a bit older than him.

"Who's that?" Steve asked, but frowned when he realized his words slurred slightly.

Rooster rolled his eyes. "Buddy Hodge - supervises down at the docks. You might know his kid brother, Gilmore?"

Steve wrinkled his nose. "Yeah - or at least his knuckles. And who're you calling 'kid'? That guy's got a good half-foot on his brother."

Rooster laughed. "Yeah, well, _don't_ remind him. That guy is an utter dick. There was rumor goin' around a few years back, he might be a chicken-hawk - you know, one a 'dem sick fucks likes kids? Yeah. He's a rotten bastard. Heard the last fella' to tangle asses with him went to the hospital."

Steve felt a swell of anger and disgust.

"You know, he actually got a medical deferment from the draft," Rooster told Steve with a nudge.

" _That guy?"_ Steve asked in disbelief, throwing a thumb at the short Neanderthal over his shoulder.

"Yup."

Steve was appalled, and the alcohol had already loosened his tongue. " _What the hell for?!_ Having more _muscle_ than _balls_?"

Rooster slapped the bar and almost fell off his stool laughing. " _Oh, man,_ I wish Buck had been here to hear what just come outta' that pristine mouth of yours, Rogers!"

Steve sighed sadly, and licked his lips. "Me too, believe me - even though he would never let me forget it."

"Don't worry - I see 'im again, I'll be sure to pass it on," Rooster cackled, and ordered another round of beers.

Steve didn't even protest when a fresh mug appeared before him. He tipped it up with both hands.

"Anyway, nah, that guy got outta' it 'cause of _'psychological reasons'._ " Rooster snorted.

"I'd believe it," Steve mumbled, setting down his half-empty drink. "Ya - you can tell him an' _Gilmore_ are related. They're both a couple a real _jerks_."

" _Who's a jerk?"_ came a loud voice from behind Steve's head.

Rooster turned around on his stool again and winced. "How's it goin', Hodge?"

"Well, well, if it ain't _Walter_ Ross. How'd a wimp like you survive Basic?"

Rooster made a face at the use of his true first name - he'd told Bucky and Steve in school that he hated it because he'd been named after his degenerate, lazy ass of a father, and he'd always gone by Rooster because of his red hair. Hodge wasn't winning any points with him for using it.

"Least he _made_ it to Basic," Steve muttered loudly, and Rooster slapped a hand over his eyes as if to shut out the oncoming train wreck.

The compactly muscled man flicked his pale blue eyes over to Steve. "Who's this little boy? Doesn't even look old enough to drink," he chortled, and Steve's skin crawled. "You over here callin' me names, little boy?

Steve shrugged sloppily, hair falling into his eyes. "Jus' statin' facts," he said honestly, and Rooster simultaneously choked back a laugh and a groan beside him, pulling his hat off his head and hiding his face behind it.

"You jumped up little prick," Hodge snapped, stepping forward, "you think just cause you're drunk and weak I won't kick your ass?"

Steve clumsily slid off the stool, eyes narrowing. "I may be small, but I'm strong enough to handle myself - I'm no _child_ ," he said deliberately, and watched red flush crawl up the bully's neck.

"Let's take this outside, _little boy_ , we'll see how tough you really are," Hodge snarled, pushing Steve's shoulder, and Steve reached up and slammed his hand back at him in disgust.

"Fine, let's go," Steve growled, and watched as Hodge turned and marched out the doors.

"Stevie, maybe we better take the back door, getcha' back home, huh?" Rooster said lightly from behind him, and Steve turned to look at him with a frown.

"I don't run from bullies, Rooster, _especially_ ones like that. He needs to be taught a lesson."

Rooster groaned and covered his face with his hand. "My _God_ , you're gonna' _die_ and Bucky Barnes is gonna' _kill_ me! He's gonna' hunt me down in Honolulu and test out his shiny new rifle on me; he's gonna' whack me in paradise before the Japanese ever even get the chance! You're gonna' go out there an' get killed, and I'm gonna' have to tell your _best_ _friend_ it was all my fault, _I jus' had to take you out drinkin' - "_

Steve rolled his eyes and walked out the door, leaving his over-dramatic friend to indulge in his self-pity.

"Finally, thought you pissed your pants and ran off, little boy," Hodge called out from the mouth of an alley between the bar and another building. A small crowd of about fifteen men and women from the bar had followed him outside and was watching with avid interest.

Steve walked over, more than a little unsteady on his feet, and began rolling up his sleeves.

"Quit callin' me _'little boy'_ ," he warned loudly.

"Why should I?" Hodge snarled, taking a threatening step towards him.

Steve swayed a little, feeling a vague sense of nausea, and he tried to keep his next words from coming out of his mouth, but he couldn't because his mouth didn't seem to be attached to his brain anymore.

"Cause it makes me _sick_ \- especially since I hear you're a little too fond of _innocent_ _kids_!"

The small crowd that had gathered to see to the spectacle of the scrawny five-four asthmatic fighting, all gaped at the boldly-spoken words.

Steve's brain was rapidly back-peddling, screaming at him to take it back, he was going to get _murdered,_ there were some things you just didn't _say_ in public - and then the lumpy idiot in front of him smiled - _smiled_ \- and sneered, "So what if I do? Huh? What are _you_ gonna' do about it, _little boy_?"

Steve stared at the bully, outrage chasing away the dizziness and nausea of his overindulgence for a moment, and then he balled his hands into fists, gritting his teeth as he readied himself to take what was probably going to be the worst beating of his life. The monster was probably going to kill him, but not before Steve left his mark on the miserable bastard, he'd all but _admitted_ to it, the evil -

Suddenly there were gasps and shouts, people ranting angrily all around them. Steve looked away, dazed for a moment, and Hodge socked him in the cheek so hard he fell straight over.

" _You sick son-of-a-bitch!"_

" _Got a thing for little boys, do ya', you piece a shit?"_

" _Ain't the world got enough to worry about without freaks like you goin' after babies?"_

Steve could barely move, but he saw movement in the alley mouth all around Buddy Hodge. The light wasn't great, and his eyesight was just as good, but he could see the crowd close in around the brawny man, hands rising and falling, and feet kicking. The bar patrons were exacting some good-old-fashioned vengeance on the stupidly self-professed pedophile, and Steve waited to feel guilty for causing the ruckus, but found that he just couldn't - the man just simply needed his ass good and kicked, and he was glad it would get done even if he was sorry it couldn't be by his own hand.

Steve got to his knees, then his feet, wavering. He took a few steps away to lean against a wall and throw-up in a trash-can, and immediately felt better. He wiped his face with his handkerchief, and felt a hand on his elbow. He glanced up to see Rooster staring down at him with a huge grin.

"Geez, I buy you one shot, and a beer and a half later you're startin' riots! You're a fun guy, Stevie! We should go out drinkin' more often!"

Steve pressed his knuckles to his rapidly swelling cheek and smiled through a pained wince. He was about to suggest they head home, but several of the men from the bar crowd gathered around and actually congratulated Steve on calling out and standing up to Hodge. They insisted on buying him a drink, and ignored his protests, hoisting him up onto their shoulders and carrying him back into the bright and noisy bar.

Hodge was nowhere to be seen.

* * *

At nine a.m. on Saturday morning, Becca Barnes calmly entered her house from the back yard where she'd gone to feed their dog, Pork Chop, and walked into the kitchen. Her mother was there, busy ironing clothes.

"Ma', have you been out back today?" she asked calmly.

Winifred Barnes looked up. "Not yet, why?"

"Well, I think Rooster Ross must have walked Steve home last night."

The older woman set aside her iron and frowned. "What does that have to do with our backyard? Steven lives two blocks from here."

Becca nodded, "I know, that's why it was so odd to see Rooster Ross in a dress uniform asleep in the potato patch."

"What?!" Winifred exclaimed. "But what about Steven?"

"He's as fine as he could be, with a hangover the size of the one I think he's gonna' have, anyway."

Winifred gasped, putting her hands over her mouth. "Steven's in the yard? Wait, _Steven_ got drunk?!"

"Completely smashed," Becca confirmed. "According to Rooster - who left pretty quickly after I woke him up by the way, I think he was too embarrassed to hang around - our little Stevie had quite the adventure last night."

"Oh, my gosh! How many bones are broken this time?"

"He's okay, Ma', just got his cheek busted up a little."

"Thank goodness for small miracles. Where is he now?"

"Oh, I thought it best to just let him sleep off as much of it as he can," Becca commented blithely, "he looks perfectly peaceful - but Pork Chop isn't too happy."

"Why ever not?"

"Because sometime last night Steve threw up in his fur and passed out in his dog-house."

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ _Is it stupid to laugh at your own jokes? Probably… :) Rooster Ross is an OC loosely based off my dear old Dad when he was young. He and drunk Steve were a lot of fun to write. Dad actually did pass out once, completely blitzed, in a dog-house in my uncle's back yard after a party. Nobody could find him 'til the next day. Buddy Hodge isn't a real character, and neither is Mary Colecki and Pork Chop the dog. Anyway, hope it was a good read. Comments welcome!_


End file.
